


The Good Stuff

by maddestofthemad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, the scene we all wanted and never got
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddestofthemad/pseuds/maddestofthemad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric goes to see his friend after the events of All that Remains</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything Dragon Age so I hope you all enjoy it!

_“No plans yet, I just want to look after my mother_.”

Hawke stood before the fire, forgotten glass of something in her hand.

_“Leandra was so sure you’d come for her._ ”

The firelight danced across her face, throwing her eyes into shadow.

“ _I knew you would come_.”

Her hand tightened on the glass.

“ _Shh…don’t fret, darling.  That man would have kept me trapped in here.  Now, I’m free.  I get to see Bethany again.  And your father.  But you’ll be here…alone._ ”

The flames blurred in her vision as her chest constricted painfully.

_“My little girl has become so strong.  I love you…you’ve always made me…so…proud._ ”

Glass shattered against brick as Hawke threw the glass into the fire, sending sparks and smoke into the air.  The acrid cloud burned in her eyes and she welcomed the excuse to dash the tears away.

“I hope that wasn’t the good ale,” a voice quipped behind her, “I’m all for throwing things in anger but, Maker, don’t waste the good stuff.”

Hawke turned, raising an eyebrow at the dwarf that stood in the doorway.  “I thought you only liked stuff that burned away your insides.”

“Ah, true.   You _do_ get the best stories over the worst drinks – but I’m not sure this is the right setting?”  He held up a bottle and shook it, the telltale swish informing Hawke that it was full.  “Whaddya say?”

Hawke gestured toward the two chairs behind them, “Might as well.”

Sauntering over, Varric sank into one of the chairs, producing two cups from Maker knows where, and placing them on the table between them.  After a moment’s hesitation, Hawke also took a seat, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“I hear Blondy came by earlier,” Varric remarked, passing her a full cup. 

“He did,” Hawke said, taking a sip of her drink, but not really tasting it.  The burning sensation it spread through her veins was a pleasant compliment to the heat of the fire.

Varric sipped his own cup, watching her over the lip.  Silence grew between them.

“ _Magic’s always run in this family.  It’s a curse.  Now even your mother has fallen victim to it._ ”

Hawke’s hand shook on the glass and they carefully set it down.  Varric sighed.

“So, how are you holding up?” he asked with the smallest hint of sarcasm.  Hawke responded with a slight quirk of her lips.  “Oh, don’t give me that look – I’m no good at this emotional stuff and you know it.”  Hawke raised an eyebrow.  “What?  That’s what the drinks are for!”

“You’re incorrigible,” Hawke informed him.

“Good.  Just the way I like it,” he raised his cup in a mocking toast.  “Well?”

“ _You were lucky to have her as long as you did.  When the pain fades, that’s what will matter_.”

Hawke clenched her fists, eyes going back to the fire raging in the hearth.  It flared a little higher.

“That well, huh?”  Varric leaned forward, topping off his glass.  “Come on, don’t make me drink this alone – what kind of friend makes a dwarf drink alone?”

“A bad one,” Hawke said softly, downing what was left in her glass.

“Now, that’s not fair.  You’re a great friend – how else would someone like me come across a drink like this?”  Varric pointed at the bottle and chuckled.  “That’s a mighty stash you have downstairs.”

Hawke stared, then shrugged and threw back the contents of her cup once more.

Varric sat forward, cradling his cup between his hands as he watched the contents gently swirl around.  His shoulders sagged ever so slightly.  “Look, I know I’m not the best at the touchy-feely nonsense, but I’m…here for you.  If you need.”  The words felt awkward on his lips, but he let them fall anyway.

“I should’ve watched over her more closely…” Hawke whispered, her posture mirroring Varric’s.  The words were an echo from that night in the warehouse.

“ _I tried to find you…_ ”

“You and what army?” Varric asked.  “If I recall, you’ve been hunting down murderers, searching for Qunari – not to mention a brother in the Templars, an uncle in the slums, and the rest of Kirkwall’s problems on your shoulders.”

“She was my _mother!_ ” Hawke shouted, rising to her feet.  The sudden movement caused her to sway, but she didn’t reclaim her seat, instead pacing back and forth before  the fire, muttering softly.  Her hands fidgeted before her, sparking electricity.

“Yeah, and she was a great one,” Varric said, sitting back and eyeing his friend.

“She deserved better,” Hawke continued, “she deserved so much more.”

“So do a lot of people, Hawke.  And you’ve been fighting tooth and nail for every one of them.”  His words didn’t seem to reach her.  “Listen to me,” he stood, walking over and placing himself in front of her to stop her pacing.  “Leandra was an incredible woman – hell, few people could keep up with me at night over drinks and then school me the next morning in business practices, but she did it!”  Hawke glared at him.  “Hey!  That might not sound like much, but it’s something!  She raised you and Bethany – ” Hawke flinched and looked away “ – and Carver.  And maybe you’re a little rough around the edges, but all the best people are.”  Varric smiled sadly.  “I wouldn’t wish nobility on anyone, my friend, but you were born to it.”

“You said that nobility is just another word for ‘a lot of rich people trying to kill you,’” Hawke snapped.

“Yeah.  I did.  I hate being right.  But being _noble_ is not the same as being nobility.”  Varric sighed as Hawke frowned.  “Maker help me – sit, I need another drink.”  Hawke obliged and Varric poured them both another round.

“People like you are rare,” Varric explained, adopting his storytelling voice.  He handed her the cup, then sat back, crossing one leg over the other.  Hawke watched as he sipped his drink, then continued.  “Nobles – _true_ nobles – aren’t determined by title, or family, but by _action_.  They fight against injustice, they stand up for what’s right, and they’re damn miserable people.”

Hawke laughed humorlessly into their cup.

“They’re miserable because every failure has the potential to be a killing blow, and if they don’t have a trusty dwarf to set them straight,” Varric wriggled his eyebrows and Hawke couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled in her chest, “guilt eats them alive.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I’m noble – but I’ll only survive so long as you’re by my side,” Hawke said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“Maker, no!”  Varric laughed, “I’m saying you’re going to be miserable, but at least you’ve got some good ale!  And nothing is better at fighting guilt than good ale.”

Hawke looked down at the cup in her hands, some of the lines fading from her face.  “Thank you, Varric,” she said.  “What would I do without my trusty dwarf?”

“Don’t get all teary eyed on me now,” Varric warned, “We’re going to need to finish this before that’s possible.” 

Hawke leaned forward, holding out her cup.  Varric raised his, clinking them together gently. 

“To family,” he said.

“To friends,” Hawke added with a soft smile.

“To damn good ale,” Varric concluded.


End file.
